


That Other Matter

by isthatacatsherlock



Category: After the Gold Rush - Neil Young, Ed Sheeren (Musician), Nine Inch Nails (Band)
Genre: Autoimmune disease, Ballet, Concert, Disease, Ed Sheeran - Freeform, F/M, Multiple Sclerosis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-02
Updated: 2013-03-02
Packaged: 2017-12-04 01:33:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isthatacatsherlock/pseuds/isthatacatsherlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A good day was this- brisk, fair weather with wind against your face, gentle enough that you’re not pressing to get by but not still and balmy, the lack of Things To Do, clean underwear, and Starbucks in his hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Boy Worth Skipping Your Meds For

“Sir?….Sir?” Ed blinked, looking over at the bored looking barista in front of him. She would be the exact American girl stereotype if she had bubble gum in her mouth. “What would you like today?” she said in a fake happy voice that unsettled him. He noticed the tip jar was empty. He’d probably been zoning out there for a few seconds, based on the line behind him and the look on her face.

 

He knew how bad this looked and felt a blush creeping up his neck. “Sorry,” he said and looked up at the menu to make sure he really wanted. “A…venti Iced Mocha with double whipped cream, made with soy milk would be awesome.” The result was an oreo shake, and he ordered it almost every day for breakfast. Not only was it a perfect hangover cure, it was nice to have something like an oreo for breakfast, which he was never allowed to do as a kid. It felt nice to do those things as an adult. ‘Sophia,’ read her nametag. In front of the register, a weekly special was drawn on the chalkboard, and it was the TARDIS, by Sophie.

He was interested, but not interested enough. Alice would have loved it, though. He personally found doctor who a bit boring, even if that made him a bad British person. He put a 50 in the tip jar. Tomorrow was his last day here and he didn’t plan on shopping. After this, it was the UK, and he didn’t want to keep his American money.  
Also, it seemed like Sophia was having a bad day.

He stepped over and another barista made him his oreo shake and handed it to him, and he licked at the whipped cream as he left the Starbucks. The weather reminded him of what good days are like when he stepped outside.  
A good day was this- brisk, fair weather with wind against your face, gentle enough that you’re not pressing to get by but not still and balmy, the lack of Things To Do, clean underwear, and Starbucks in his hand. The feeling carried him through to the concert. It was a lounge show, so there were about 100 people, most, thankfully, over 21.

 

He didn’t have to tutor anyone about being quiet during the slow songs and he saw no glitter or signs. At the meet and greet, he smiled and chatted and signed and was just about to go to the bus when two girls came up. One was younger, clearly under 21, with a glittery ‘marry me, ed’ t-shirt. He blushed, smiled, and signed for her and once he looked up he was surprised to see the barista from earlier.

She looked like she never smiled, and he wasn’t surprised to see eyeliner on thicker than it was this morning. She had darker red hair - he wasn’t sure it was real - tied back and a lip ring in. She wasn’t smiling at him, and he heard car keys in her sweatshirt pocket.

He was used to parents, but people weren’t usually…unhappy when they got to him in the meet and greet line. “Nice to meet you, Breanna and you, Sophia.” The younger girl looked up, shocked, at the older one.

“HOW DID THIS EVEN WHAT WHY DID YOU NOT. TELL. ME.” Sophia looked even less amused and held up her hand. “Relax,” he said, laughing. His stomach growled and he remembered he forgot to eat both lunch and dinner. “She was my barista at Starbucks today.” Sophia gave a small ‘I’m not really happy’ smile and looked at the younger girl. “Mom says you need to be home by 11:30.”

“Right, right, but you didn’t tell me!”  
“I didn’t have time!”  
Ed stood up. “Thanks for coming, Sophia, Breanna.”  
“No problem,” responded Sophia, trying to urge Breanna on. Sisters. So Sophia wasn’t a fan but her little sister was. He couldn’t tell why he wanted to convince Sophie that he was not, indeed, another member of 1 direction and he was very cool.  
“Do you guys know any good places to eat around here?” Breanna almost exploded with glitter. “That are still open. I’m starving.”  
“I do. I SO DO. Me and my sister,” said Breanna, and she continued without giving Sophia a chance to interrupt, though she looked like she would very much like to, “were just going to our favorite all night diner. American experience. You have to come with us. We’ll even drive.”  
“Uh…” came from Ed and Sophia both, giving each other apprehensive glances.  
“Won’t we, Sophie?”  
“Uh…sure.”  
Stuart was going to kill him.  
“Give me…ten minutes to climb in the bus. Actually…” he reconsidered and then changed his mind again. “Yeah, ten minutes.” Sophia gave him an apprehensive glance and he went into the bus to get his clothes changed, peeling sweat-filled garments from his body and throwing him on the couch hurriedly. He fluffed his hair and called that good enough before texting Stuart his plans. ‘A boy’s gotta eat, I totally understand,’ came the text message back. ‘But be safe.’ Ed had discluded the ‘the fans are actually driving me’ detail. But he went back out, just under ten minutes, unsure the girls were even going to be there.

 

Sophia didn’t really know what to think. Her sister was so going to clean her apartment next week in payback. Honestly, Breanna looked so ecstatic in the backseat that it didn’t seem to matter. She didn’t think he was going to show up, figuring he was just another one of those artist pricks, but so far he wasn’t and he did show up. He walked with them to their car and got in the passenger’s seat, smelling not of the sweat in his hair but of some type of cologne that felt vaguely familiar and unsettling. She turned on the CD player nervously - he was probably going to hate her ‘drive’ mix - and nervously smiled at him. Something about him made her feel like she couldn’t just be an ass and get off scot-free.  
“So…Sophie..what kind of music do you- oh, I love this song,” he said, as ‘Winterlong’ by Neil Young came on.  
“This kind,” she says.  
“My sister’s music taste is boring,” chimed in Breanna.  
“Did you text Mom?” asked Sophia sharply. She still didn’t want to go. Tonight was med night and she didn’t want to skip, but at this point it was too uncomfortable to cancel.  
“Yep. She says be home by 2 since it’s saturday.”

In the restaurant, he impressed her further- first by ordering a club sandwich and a mountain dew- an odd choice, and then by not being a jackass. “Can I ask what you thought?” he asked her as Breanna got distracted by her phone. They ordered pancakes.  
“Hmm?” she asked.  
“About the show. I mean, you don’t seem to be a fan and that’s totally cool. But…did I totally suck?”  
“No, you didn’t,” interrupted Breanna and Ed politely thanked her and then looked back at Sophia. Truthfully, he was amazing. The way he ran a show was expert and he was great at working with a loop pedal instead of just relying on his guitar alone.  
“You’re…you’re alright,” she decided on. She didn’t want to shower him with praise right now, because he was a famous person and he could turn into a jackass at any time. And she had to drive him back to his bus.  
“Thanks,” he said, returning to his food and bringing up another conversation topic with Breanna. Kittens or something. It wasn’t until they were nearly to the bus again that he looked back at her. She felt like shit- torn between whether she should’ve told him no and gotten her meds but glad that she made her sister’s night. “Listen,” he said quietly. Breanna was sleeping. “Do you have Skype?”  
“Huh? Yeah. I do. Why?”  
“Wouldn’t…mind…chatting with me on it, would you, by chance? I…god, I sound so creepy. And…yeah just forget I asked. I just want to talk about Neil Young with you, really.”  
Sophia half-smiled. “Yeah. You…you can have my Skype. Just…don’t tell me what it is for you, because my sister could still be awake.” Ed looked back. She wasn’t, but she had a tumblr and was sixteen so you could never be too safe.  
“Alright, what’s yours?” he asked, getting out his phone. They were in the parking lot now.  
“Haveaniceflight.”  
“…Interesting. Okay. I…um…thank you, and I’ll talk to you later on? If you’re…still up.”  
“I might still be up.”  
“Alright. Bye. Leave this for your sister.” He took a bracelet off his wrist- his mom had made it- a rainbow one -and put it on the dashboard.  
“Sure thing.”  
“Bye.”  
Breanna woke up midway home and took the bracelet inside and Sophia drove back, feeling crappier and crappier by the second. She definitely should’ve skipped on the dinner and taken her meds. And maybe the pancakes were a bad decision. She sighed, stayed in her parking spot for an hour and contemplated the best way to get inside.  
She was doing just that, in fact, when her phone dinged. “Thecoolestadsjgkf” was requesting to be her friend. She accepted.  
“Hey. It’s ed.”


	2. Trent Reznor Can Suck My Cock

‘Hi,’ she texted, sighing. She looked up from her phone up at her apartment building. She was lucky enough to get a parking spot right across from the entrance to her ground level apartment. Maybe ten steps stood between her and her door, five more between her and her bed. She could do this.   
‘I really had fun tonight,’ he said, in obvious flirt language. Or maybe not obvious. Maybe he was just being nice.   
‘I did as well,’ she said, even though she wasn’t now.   
‘What are you up to now?’  
Getting out of my car, even though my legs won’t work because I have MS and pushed myself too far today and went out with you instead of going home to take my medication. Sophia opened the door and swung one leg, then two. Good. Progress.  
‘Just got home,’ she lied. ‘I’m tired.’   
‘Yeah?’   
She pocketed her phone and grabbed the cane in her back seat - here for emergencies such as this. Soon enough, she was in her bed and had injected herself, comfy in leg warmers and an oversized sweater for the night, glad that she was tired and might be able to sleep through it. She logged into her computer and answered him. ‘Video call? I’m not creepy, I just don’t feel like typing.’ And she didn’t. Her fingers were tight and tingly.   
‘Sure.’ He called her. She let her hair down. He had his glasses on now and a beer in his hand, leaning against his desk. He waved.   
“How is your night?” she asked.  
“Spectacular. Are you bored of small talk?”  
“Yep.”  
“Why do you like Neil Young? Like…I really didn’t peg you as the type.”  
Sophia laughed. “What type did you peg me as, exactly?” He didn’t expect the question, so he took a minute to think.  
“Honestly? Nine Inch Nails or something.”  
“Well, Trent Reznor can suck my cock,” she said, and Ed spit out his beer, spattering. She smirked as he put the beer on the desk and regained his composure.  
“Oh my god. I haven’t heard a Skins quote in ages. Nice one,” he said, leaning back and beginning to laugh again.   
“I’m so flattered that you thought I listen to Nine Inch Nails.”   
“Sarcasm detection on…”  
“Yep. But really. You turn on Winterlong and you’ve thrown me for a loop.”  
“Well. Maybe I’ll make you a mix of the music I like or something. I bet you’d be surprised.”  
“Would I?”  
“Not a single Linkin Park track.”  
“Refreshing,” he said, finishing off his beer.  
“Are you in your tour bus?”  
“Hotel room. We leave in a couple of hours so sleeping is kind of pointless. Especially as it’s a 10 hour flight. Probably with delays or something. I plan on sleeping well.”   
“Nice.”  
“Are you going to bed?”  
“Yeah, I’m a bit tired.” She wrapped a big blanket around herself. Her ballet coach had made it for her the year before- one of those easy to tie blankets with ballet flats dancing around.  
“Do you dance?”  
“Yup.”  
“Ballet? Interesting.”  
“Wouldn’t have pegged me as the type?” Her teeth chattered.   
“…No. Are you cold?”   
“Yeah, but I’m fine. I’m going to bed now, Ed. Goodnight.”  
“Can I Skype you again?”   
She had to admit that it was nice of him to ask right then and not participate in an extended ‘who texts who’ tango. It was hard to remember they really really weren’t dating. Sophia reminded herself that just because a boy was nice to her didn’t mean he was interested. “Let me check my calendar. Um. Tomorrow I don’t have work, but I do have ballet. Sure. Skype me or whatever. Night, Ed.”  
“Night.”

She slept until ballet the next day and arrived with her hair in an unfashionably messy bun and leggings with shorts over them, a sports bra, and a tank top on. She sat while the other girls warmed up and put on her pointe shoes, wiggling her toes before encasing them.

“Late night, Soph? How was the concert?” Asked Emma from the stage. Emma was her instructor. She was in her 40s and she went to Julliard and danced for a professional company until she had kids and gained too much weight to be in the company.   
“It was good,” she said, “and yeah, I’m tired,” Sophia answered, throwing her bag to the couch in the corner of the studio and walking to the bar to warm up with the other girls. Her bones protested and she could hear the crunching in the back of her neck with every plie, but she ignored it. By now, she’d started to like it.   
“Let me know if you need to rest,” cautioned Emma.   
“Oh, not a chance,” said Sophia before coming up on pointe. Every muscle protested but she stood tall and felt beautiful as she practiced putting her arms in proper position. She winked at Emma, though. Truthfully she’d never rest even if her body screamed at her, needing it. During dance, every marker of having MS melted away.   
She didn’t need a cane, walker, or wheelchair. She didn’t need injections or MRIs and there were no lesions on her brain or spine. She just needed to measure up, fit her body into a mold, stretch it out into a model of delicate, non-sick, non-strong femininity for 5 hours a week. She could do this. And she would never give it up.   
She danced until her body screamed at her, until her knees wobbled dangerously while she was up on pointe, until she even had to admit she couldn’t, and luckily that was the end of practice, so she came over by the couch in the corner of the studio for her other favorite part of practice- getting her shoes back on. It was weird that this would be her favorite as usually people didn’t find things like this favorable, but it was the same way she enjoyed a hard day’s work and the way she felt when she got into her car after that was completed.  
Exhausted, but gratified. She untied the ribbon, pulled her shoes off- duct taped and rather not as glamorous as the ones on her blanket. She wiggled her toes and noticed the notification light on her phone was going. Skype messages from Ed.   
‘I’m sleepy.’  
‘You’re like that other girl on Bring It On.’  
‘EXACTLY LIKE HER.’   
‘Except with ballet.’   
‘Hi.’

She smirked. “Thanks. I think that’s a compliment? As long as you don’t mean ‘the not pretty one.’”   
“Who says Kristen Dunst was the hot one?”  
“Everybody.”   
“Ah. Well. How was dance? Are you coming home?”   
“Soon. After I go get dinner and what are you doing.”  
“Just played a show. I’m in Brisbane.”  
“Good deal.”  
“So can you Skype soon?”  
“In two hours.”

Two hours found her at home in bed with Subway. The injection from last night had helped - she felt good enough now that she could walk into her apartment without it taking two hours.   
She turned on Skype and called Ed. He didn’t seem to be into small talk tonight.   
He still had his glasses on, and he had showered, wearing a t-shirt and sweats. Another hotel room. She could tell this time.   
“Hi. I have a question for you.” He spoke quickly.  
“I’m all ears,” she said, biting into her sandwich, heavy with meat, vegetables, and ranch. In retrospect this would seem an inappropriate moment to eat a sandwich like that, without regard to how much of a lady she looked like.  
“I rather like you. Will you go out with me?”   
She almost choked on her sandwich. Putting it down, she gave him an incredulous look. This hadn’t just happened. There was absolutely no need.  
“No….why…would you even ask that?”  
“I’m really stupid. Can you pretend I didn’t ask?”  
“Nope…not really. No. I can’t. Why did you ask?”  
“Isn’t it kind of obvious? Because I like you!” his eyes went all wide and doe-y and it was really hard to be mad at him.   
“Oh God, Ed. It’s just…how do we…go out in the first place? You’re not going to be here until May.”  
“You looked up the tour dates?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Well…it’s going to be quite a long tour. I’m thinking of buying a place in Nashville.”  
Nashville was an hour from Sophie.  
“Because…” she said cautiously. Ed had known her a number of hours.  
“Because I have friends there and it’d be cheaper for me than just coming to England on breaks. Chill.”  
“Right.”  
“May is 2 months away.”  
She sighed. She did like him, too, but long distance relationships sucked. They just…they did.  
“I’ll think about it, okay?”   
“Okay.”  
“I’m going to bed.”  
“Goodnight.”  
“Sure you don’t want to forget I asked?”  
“No. I mean…we can still be friends. It’s good you were honest.”  
“And you were…vague and confusing.”  
“Night, Ed.”  
“Night.”


End file.
